The See the Pyramids Along the Nile Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Illya and Napoleon go to Egypt to find the missing daughter of Alexander Waverly's friend. They find she isn't the only one who has disappeared. Who's responsible and why? The answers they get are not what they expect. Pre-saga series HET 3-4, 8 language
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: this story takes place before the boys have met their lady loves and are footloose and fancy free. So this is a pre-saga series tale. Which I know will make some of you very happy. Thank you to Ripon for her wonderful and informative messages about Egypt, to Sierra Sutherwind for help with my atrocious French, and jkkitty for her unfailing support!

**"The See the Pyramids Along the Nile Affair"**

Their BOAC jet landed with a screech as it's tires hit the runway, somewhat late as it taxied along the runway until it came to a stop beside the small newly renovated facility at the Cairo International airport in Egypt. The had only carry on luggage and that afforded them some time as the the two agents set about the task of getting themselves transportation into the city.

Illya whistled loudly, then called in Arabic, hailing one of the black and white Mercedes 200D taxis to come to a stop in front of them as they waited on the sidewalk in front the terminal; telling the driver their destination, the Shepheard Hotel in the heart of Cairo.

The Russian always eager for reading material of any sort had picked up a brochure for the hotel in the airport; devouring it's contents during the forty-five minute drive into the city.

"Listen to this Napoleon" he said reading the list of the who's who that had graced the doors of the hotel." The Prince of Wales, King Fiasal, the Aga Khan, King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, Prince Erik of Denmark, The Maharajah of Jodphur, the British P.M. Winston Churchill, and the last name T.E. Lawrence bringing a smile to Illya's lips as he remembered having once masqueraded as Lawrence of Arabia's son to escape from being sold into slavery in a Bedouin encampment, but then images the Shiek Sulador's overly zealous and amorous daughter Sophie came to mind, causing him to shudder.*

"Oh yeah, I remember," Solo answered teasingly" that's when you wore a _dress_."

Illya responded with a bit of indignation in his voice. "It was _not_ a dress, it was a traditional galibaya."

Napoleon chuckled; pleased that he could still raise the Russian's ire with just a single word.

Kuryakin went back to his reading, noting to his partner that there was a special place waiting just for him at the hotel.

"Ah this is too perfect, the '_Napoleon Bar'_ is located downstairs. I am sure you will manage to find trysts of the nocturnal type there." he smirked." it is a full moon after all."

Solo made a face at his partner, then ignored his further jabs; opting to watch the pedestrian traffic out the open taxi window on as they drove through the crowded city. People moving to and fro int their long flowing robes, camels, donkeys bicycles, scooters all amid the car traffic, making travel a congested journey. Cairo, called the 'city of a thousand minarets; a the moment there were hundreds of the golden and multicolored towers just within Napoleon's view and he could hear the prayers being called over loud-speakers, echoing through the air calling the faithful, as it was a predominantly Muslim country.

"I am still at a loss as to how we were booked accommodations in an expensive hotel like 'The Shepheard', "Illya said. "accounting will have something to say about it, I am sure."

"We've got a good hotel for once and you're still complaining? You know it's because we're looking into personal business for the 'old man' and besides it's only a ten minute walk from the Egyptian museum, so we're saving on taxi fares and car rentals to say the least, I don't think he really cares in this case."

They were there to meet with the curator of the museum, Dr. Mustaffa el-Hazziz, a personal friend of Alexander Waverly. The man's daughter had been reported missing, along with several other daughters of prominent residents of the city and now the 'old man' had his two best agents looking in on the case.

Illya studied his partner for a second, surprised that he knew the hotel was so close to the museum.

Napoleon saw the look Illya was giving him, then laughed. "Tovarisch, I've been here before."

"On assignment?"

"No a vacation actually. I wanted to see the pyramids, and I met a beautiful woman that..

"As have I" Illya answered," been wanting to see the pyramids that is."He cut his partner off from regaling him about one of his many conquests. "perhaps if things go well we could put in a little sight seeing, yes?'

"Yes." Napoleon smiled, amused at his partner's avoidance of the topic of women. It was a rare opportunity that they ever had to visit any place of interest while on assignment and so this one was not as official as their normal missions; it made sense to indulge his Russian friends wants for once.

The Shepheard Hotel had been built on historical grounds known as Ezbeki and was surrounded by tropical greenery and rare trees. It had once been occupied by Napoleon Bonaparte's army as headquarters during it's invasion of Egypt in the 18th century. The hotel was known for it's famous terrace with it's wicker chairs and tables; commanding a lofty and shaded view of the comings and goings on Ibrahim Pasha street below.

It stood like an oasis in in a city nearly devoid of green life. The country's arid climate allowing for minimal plant growth; date palms, eucalyptus and citrus trees that were introduced and were not native.

The taxi arrived at the hotel, but was unable to park nearby as the traffic was too heavy. Solo paid a porter to lug their suitcases for them as it was as hot as hades. "

"So much for saving money." Illya laughed, as the cost of the porter nearly equalled the cost of the taxi ride from the airport. They had to watch themselves as they would be quickly cash-poor and have to rely on their expense accounts and in a country like this, cash was the preferred form of payment.

Napoleon stood at the front desk listening unhappily as the manager checked their reservations, speaking in a very clipped British accent.

"I am sorry sir, but the reservations were changed by your company from single accommodations. All we have in your name at present is a room with a double bed."

Illya flashed his partner an _I told you it was too good to be true_ look as they walked towards the elegant flight of stairs, the bannisters flanked on either side by diaphanous statues holding long fluted trumpets. Surrounding the marble lobby were tall columns stylized after the Egyptian lotus pillars of the ancient ruins of Karnak. At the top of the stairs on the second floor was an atrium filled with plants and small palms.

They located their room, eyeing the single bed; the partners looked at each other and sighed. No matter, they had slept together in the same bed before. But the room was hot, having only ceiling fans to circulate the dry heat-laden air, making little difference in the comfort level. It would not a commodious sleep in spite of the elegance of the room.

Illya threw open the shutters, stepping out to the balcony, revealing a spectacular view of the Giza pyramids and the Sphinx, but when a gust of sand-laden wind hit him; he was not happy. He hated the heat, and the sand. He hoped this mission would be short with a successful completion, leaving a little time for some sight seeing and nothing more.

They both showered and changed into lighter clothing; Napoleon in a tan linen suit, Illya with a polo shirt and light cotton pants. He did however, bring a long beige, billowing hooded kaftan robe to protect him against the sun and cover his blond head from prying eyes. His appearance would make him stand out too much in a crowd; better he remained as invisible as possible until they had a better idea as to what was going on and what would be required of them.

Napoleon looked at his partner's style of clothing, " wearing a dress again?"

"Napoleon, it is a kaftan, and meant to disguise my obvious appearance; better I stay not so visible until we know what the situation is."

Napoleon shrugged his indifference.

The took the short walk in the hot midday sun, arriving at the large two-story red neoclassical building that housed the Cairo museum, with it's tall arched entrance. Upon entering, one looks towards the atrium and the rear of the building, bursting with a myriad of items on view, from shelves full of canopic jars of alabaster and ivory, painted busts, large black granodiorite carved statues of the Pharoahs, boats, chariots and weaponry and painted panels of hieroglyphs beside the elegantly curved royal throne and golden treasures of Tutankhamen. They proceeded to the upper level to the director's office, passing scores of frighteningly blackened mummified figures encased in glass or wrapped in aged linens in their ornately decorated sarcophagi.

Illya looked with discomfort upon the mummies as they passed them; their distinct musty odor of death still obvious after centuries; calling to mind the occasion that he himself was nearly mummified by a follower of the now extinct Greek cult of the Sons of Medea.**

Mummified corpses, sand, oppressive heat, young girls disappearing mysteriously; suddenly the Russian was not so sure he wanted to do that sight-seeing after all as the claustrophobic clutter of the antiquities that surrounded them gave him an uneasy feeling.

*ref. MFU "The Arabian Affair" ** ref MFU "The Alexander the Greater Affair Part II"of the


	2. Chapter 2

Kuryakin tried shaking off the feeling as Napoleon rapped on the director's door but as they stood there waiting for a reply; the tell-tale odor from the mummies and and the dusty artifacts stuck with him. He had an uneasy queasiness and was unsure of what was causing it. He didn't like mummies, but their presence was no real reason to make him feel the way he did.

"Ta aal_come?" a raspy voice called to them in Arabic from within the office.

As they walked in,Napoleon flashed a smile at a darker-complected grey haired man; he was sitting behind a large wooden desk covered in documents and pieces of papyrus and was examining them with a magnifying glass. A tall, extremely thin fellow with a goatee beard stood beside him, dressed in a white linen suit wearing a red fez on his head, looking very much like he had stepped out of the movie _Maltese Falcon_.

The office, like the museum was bursting with archaeological finds; statuettes, jars, large vases. There was an immense painted statue of a pharaoh-like figure holding it's arm up as if brandishing a spear, standing behind the man like a bodyguard frozen in time. The shelves on each of the four walls were over flowing with books of every imaginable size.

Those drew Illya's instant attention, though he forced himself not to look, paying attention to the two men instead. He sighed in disappointment, as there were so many books; he could lose himself in just such a place.

"Dr. el-Hazziz?"

"Yes I am he," the man seated at the desk answered in heavily accented English; seeing the men were obviously not Egyptian." How may I be of help to you today?"

"I am Napoleon Solo and this is my associate Illya Kuryakin," he said as he flashed his gold ID card. "

"A Salam" Illya greeting them.

"Your friend Alexander Waverly sent us to assist with helping to locate your missing daughter." Napoleon said.

The professor lowered his glasses from his brow to his large hooked nose, taking a closer look at the card, then at Napoleon and Illya. "Ah yes you are from U.N.C.L.E. So wonderful of Alex to send you. I am beside myself and the police have been of no use in finding my beautiful child, my Zeinab."

He stood reaching out his hand to shake Napoleon's hand with a limp and somewhat prolonged grip, though giving him a hearty smile and making direct eye contact. To an ordinary person the intense glare could be disconcerting, but Napoleon knew it was a sign of honesty and sincerity in an Egyptian.

He gestured to the man beside him. "May I introduce Monsieur François Abdul al-Dabaran, head of the department of acquisitions for the museum.

"Bonjour messieurs," François nodded but did not attempt to shake their hands.

"Bonjour, monsieur." Napoleon replied but gave the man a quizzical look.

"I see your are confused Monsieur Solo, I am of mixed parentage; my father was French but alors, my mother he did not marry before he died quite suddenly. I chose to honor my mother's people by taking a name in Arabic.

"Servant of the follower," Illya said looking at Napoleon. "Abdul meaning servant, al-Dabaran of the follower. Aldebaran, the brightest star in the night sky and alpha star of the constellation Taurus is so named because it follows the Pleiades, the constellation also known as the Seven Sisters."

"Ah Monsieur Kuryakin, you are quite knowledgeable in such things, that is rare for a foreigner such as yourself,"

Illya, unsure of the implications of that remark nodded his acknowledgement to François but spoke no further.

Dr. Hazziz turned a photograph sitting atop his desk towards the agents. It was of a stunning young wide-eyed Egyptian girl of about seventeen; her hair covered in a traditional hajib head scarf. The professor was obviously not strict in his religious observance otherwise there would have been no image of the girl for them to see or if there were; her face would have been covered.

"This is my beautiful daughter," he said.

"Please gentlemen be seated. Ujlis_sit." the professor asked, " may I offer you some mint tea perhaps?"

"Yes thank you that would be good, " Illya chimed in as they sat in front of the desk; knowing that was a duty of a good host to offer it to his guests, and to refuse would have been rude and considered a rejection of the person.

"Can you tell how she disappeared sir?"Napoleon asked.

"Yes it was a week ago that my daughter was with her brother while he stopped by his favorite tea room not far from here. She sat waited outside as is customary while her brother Nabil stepped inside just for a moment to greet his friends and when he returned moments later she was gone."

"Could she have just gone off with a friend?" Napoleon asked." I don't mean to be indelicate, but could she have run away...say with a boyfriend?"

"Napoleon, it is customary that a young unmarried girl would not go anywhere in public without being escorted by a male relative." Illya said.

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin that is correct, my daughter is a good girl and would not break with that sort of tradition. Even though we are not strict in all our observances; my daughter was not unhappy and there is no boyfriend as you say. I know in my heart of hearts that something id very wrong." The professor put his head in his hand as he began to sob quietly. "If anything has happened to her, if she has been dishonored in anyway...?"

The two agents looked at each other, unable to say anything at the moment to console the man.

The doctor regained his composure. "Mr. Solo, there have been other girls disappearing as well, as I am sure Alexander has told you. They are all children of prominent citizens of our city, the editor of Al-Waqae' Al Masreya _the Egyptian Events news paper, the daughter of Al Amda_the mayor, as well the those of several owners of shipping companies and successful businesses...there are six in all.

"Possible ransom situation; they are all from well-to-do families?" Illya said, looking at Napoleon.

"There have been no contacts made, nor requests for ransom Mr. Kuryakin. And I assure you I am not a wealthy man. The police and the families are at a loss as to why the girls have been taken taken. There is no connection between them what so ever, _none_ of them even know each other." He was very animated as he spoke, gesturing with his hands, and even slammed his hand on his desk to make his point, not to show anger.

"You may not be a wealthy man, Dr. Hazziz but you have access to great wealth in the contents of this museum." Solo said, "kidnapping as a means to blackmail is still a possibility as the guilty party may be waiting for something he deems significant for him to make his demands."

There was a knock at the door and a woman's voice called. "Saba'a AlKair_good morning, professor may I come in? I bring the mint tea you asked for? I was told you had visitors."

"Ah yes please Anucis, come in."

A rare olive skinned beauty entered the room carrying a silver tray and a richly ornamented red blown-glass tea set embellished in silver and gold. It reminded Illya of some of the tea sets back home in Russia.

She was dressed in a woman's abaya robe, black with silver embroidery, her pale yellow hajib draped gracefully across her shoulders, revealing long glossy black hair and her eyes were large and dark. She wore no makeup as the agents were accustomed to seeing on women and was was obviously a natural beauty.

Gentlemen this is my assistant of antiquities, Miss Anucis Sakr. Anucis, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, they are here to help search for my daughter.

Napoleon smiled, turning on his charm without even thinking about it. He reached out to offer his hand, but Illya stopped him; knowing that if a woman did not offer hers first then a man did not attempt to shake her hand. Illya simply nodded to her, prompting his partner to do the same.

"Marhaba_hello." she nodded to Napoleon but her eyes seemed drawn to the blond seated beside him. "That is truly a wonderful thing gentlemen, I pray for your success in this endeavour." she smiled, maintaining eye contact with the Russian.

Napoleon was suddenly feeling little miffed, as he was not accustomed to his partner being lauded the attentions of an exotic beauty while he was for all intents and purposes being ignored.

On the other hand, his partner was doing something very much out of character himself; he was actually smiling at the woman and he too seemed to be unable to break his gaze with her.

Anucis set the tray on the desk as she poured the tea for them from the gracefully fluted teapot.

"This we call _shai_ here, what you call tea. It is Koshary, a black tea that is favored in this part of the country, lightly sweetened with cane sugar and flavored with mint...I hope it is to your liking," she said, obviously flirting now with Illya.

Illya accepted the glass from her. "Shokran_thank you, I am sure it is most delicious, especially if you yourself prepared it Miss Sakr.

"Oh Mr. Kuryakin, you flatter a girl." she said shyly, holding her hajib up across her face to hide her blush.

"Please call me Illya."

Napoleon rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to Hazziz. "Professor where is your son now?"

"My son Nabil was only here for a short while to visit and at my insistence he returned to school in Paris, though he wished to stay and search for his sister. He feels it is his fault, since he left her alone. Still his studies cannot suffer. I am most proud of him as he is working on his medical degree at the Sorbonne."

"Really? Mr. Kuryakin earned his masters degree there." Napoleon chimed in.

"A masters degree from the Sorbonne? I studied there as well earning my credentials in Archaeology." Anucis said,." What is your degree in Illya?"

Illya flashed a cold look at Napoleon, then returned his attentions to the woman.

"It is in Quantum Mechanics."

"So are you working on your doctorate then perhaps?"

"I earned that many years ago now from Cambridge." he admitted shyly.

"Ah a doctorate many years ago and for one so young as yourself."

"Surely now you flatter me." he said giving her one of his crooked smiles.

Napoleon cleared his throat, drawing attention to the matter at hand."Professor, where is this tea house, is it far from here?"

"No it is but a few blocks from the Shepheard Hotel."

"Good, that's where we're staying." Napoleon picked up the photograph of Zeinab.

"May we borrow this sir, it will help us in our search for her."

"Please, all that I have is yours if it will help you find my child. She is my ibna_daughter, my only daughter."

"That will not be necessary, but we will do our best to find her and the others." Illya reassured him.

"Professor, perhaps I can show Illya and Napoleon where it is located? It is the one with the blue and white column in front correct?"

"Yes Anucis that is the one. If you do not mind, that would be most kind of you, thank you."

"Gentlemen, I am done working here at four, perhaps we can meet at your hotel and then I can guide you to the tea room, the area it is in is a little complicated." she looked Illya in the eye," then perhaps afterwards we will see what we will see..."

Anucis left the office quietly, hiding her smile behind her scarf as she looked back at the Russian.

"Sorirart Biro'aitak_nice to meet you, " Illya called after her.

Dr. Hazizz rose, walking from behind his desk offering his hand again to the two agents.

"Shokran, shokran gazillan." he said to them in Arabic.

"Please do not thank us yet sir," Illya answered somberly, " we have done nothing to earn it."

"I will escort you from the museum," François finally spoke again. He had a strange sort of voice, like that of a pubescent boy that couldn't make up it's mind whether it wanted to be low or high-pitched. It cracked several times as he spoke to them.

"This way messieurs, I will show you out of the museum." He gestured towards the door, opening it for them. As they passed the cases of mummies, he said to them, " Do you not love that smell; that is _old_ power, n'est pas_ is it not? Some day it will return perhaps?"

Then he fell silent as he turned leaving them when they reached the exit. Françoise Abdul al-Dabaran faded into the crowds of people that wandered among the displays of the museum.

"Now _that_ fellow gives me the creeps," Napoleon whispered, "did you see his face, it looked as thin and shriveled as some of the mummies."

"Mummies, ugh," Illya groaned, "please do not remind me? I need some fresh air to get their stench out of my nostrils."

Once outside he spoke again. " I did not want to say anything inside to further upset the professor, but there is the possibility that it is not kidnapping for ransom, but for the purposes of slavery? As you recall I was nearly sold into it once. The slave trade is still flourishing in this part of the world."

"Those were my thoughts exactly tovarisch. Let's hope that's not the case?" Napoleon nodded gravely as they walked down the steps.


	3. Chapter 3

"So Anucis... little bit out of your league don't you think?" Napoleon teased as they walked from the museum down to the expanse of Tahir Square.

"_Excuse_ me?" Illya became a bit perturbed at the remark. "Napoleon, jealousy does not become you my friend? Just because a lady does not swoon at your charming smile does not mean she could not be attracted to me, nor I to her.

She is quite a handsome woman and I am not the complete _Ice Prince_ that people make me out to be. I do have a sex drive, though I think sometimes you do not think that I possess one...I am just a little more discerning in my taste in women than you are."

"What do you mean I'm not discerning?"

"Well you do go after nearly every pretty woman that you meet do you not?"

"No _I do not_." Napoleon said imitating his partner's accent, then realized he was being hurtful as Illya was more correct in that assumption than he cared to admit. " You're right," he chuckled, "I do love women. I'm just not used to rejection, I guess I'm feeling a bit put off that she snubbed me. I'm sorry I insulted you and I'm sorry you've heard that nickname people call you. I've told them to knock it off."

"I am not deaf, I have heard it whispered behind my back. I know that it is not meant to be flattering, but since it is not true; I choose to ignore it." Illya said half hiding his smile.

"Enough talk about women; unlike you; I am hungry for something else right now?"

"Hotel or restaurant food?"

"You decide, since you have already been to Cairo."

"I was actually in the city for a day, it was R & R after an assignment." Napoleon admitted. " If I recall, there was a little tavern not far from here that serves good local food. The hotels tend to serve basics, catering to the tourist trade."

Illya was never one to pass on a tasty ethnic meal."Good, tavern it is then, and it goes on your expense account for insulting me."

He smiled at the wily Russian, wondering how he always managed to maneuver a situation to his advantage when it came to paying for a meal.

Napoleon lead the way, surprising his partner again that he didn't get them lost as was often the case when Solo was doing the navigating. The Russian puzzled at times how his friend could be so successful as a field operative and have such a poor sense of direction.

They arrived at the little tavern called the Aboumazen near Khan al-Khalili, the bazaar district in the city; Illya still covering himself with his kaftan until they were seated inside. Once he lowered the hood; he noticed as he had feared, that his fair haired appearance had drawn undue attention to him, as several patrons were now staring in his direction. He whispered his concerns to his partner.

"Napoleon, is it my imagination that people are staring at me or not?

Solo dropped his menu on the floor, glancing around as he picked it up. "No it's not, but then again how often to they see someone as lily-white and golden-haired as you?"

"Perhaps?" the pale Russian shrugged.

Illya ordered their meal for them in Arabic; first the mezzas consisting of salads, dips and pita bread for dipping as there are no utensils on a traditional Egyptian table.

Tahini made with sesame seed, hummus, and tabouleh with tomatoes cucumber with garlic , wheat and lemon. Baba ganoush with eggplant and tomatoes, small plates of koheri, a mix of pasta lentils, chickpeas, bulghur wheat topped with a spicy tomato sauce. And for the main course barbecued skewers of lamb for Illya and beef for Napoleon.. The portions were just enough to be satisfying.

The food was washed down with the requsite bottles of coke, which seemed to be the drink of choice for everyone. Alcohol was in limited supply, found solely in the hotels for visitors; since it was forbidden in the Muslim culture.

Napoleon pushed the plate in front of him away, patting his stomach."I don't know about you but after that meal and with this heat; I could use a nap. How about you?"

Illya had a pencil in his hand and had just finished sketching a copy of the photograph of Zeinab Hazziz on a napkin. "No thank you I am fine. You go back to the hotel; I am going to do some exploring and show this sketch around."

"Good idea. And of course you'll be back in time to meet with the lovely Anucis?"

"Of course." Illya answered with a straight face.

The bill was paid; Napoleon putting it on expense account as agreed; both commenting that Waverly would be happy that it was rather reasonable for the amount of food that had been served.

Napoleon sauntered off in the direction of the hotel, while Illya flipped up his hood to cover his head as he stepped out onto the busy street. First he headed in the direction of the the Nile, being purely self indulgent at the moment, he wanted to take in the view across the river.

He stood gazing out from the shore of the Nile, looking at the intense rives of manganese and cerulean blue; watching the graceful felucca sailboats glide slowly past; each with a single billowing sail that caught the hot desert winds.

Children swam out to small fishing boats in the unforgiving waters; oblivious to the dangers of it's currents and those unseen that lurked beneath or in the reeds; the jaws of the Nile crocodile waiting for it's next meal. Looking over the expansive river to it's distant edge; he stared at the Pyramids with their ever present guardian the Sphinx looming in silence over the landscape.

It was all quite dramatic but serene until a sand-laden gust blew in from the desert; stinging his face and adding a grittiness in his eyes. He walked back, avoiding the endless herds of goats and camels that seemed to be everywhere along the shore. He hated camels, they were most foul creatures that never hesitated to spit at him and recalled the last time he rode one; he'd gotten seasick from the awful swaying of the beast.

The peaceful moment becoming but a brief interlude; Illya turned heading back towards Tahir Square, wandering with a purpose into the city, making note of every turn to keep himself from getting lost. The streets became more narrow as he passed through into the bazaar district again; the open air stalls selling local products, carpets, brass trinkets, useful items and those sort of things that would be of interest to tourists.

He glanced back to the path he had taken, noticing several familiar faces that he had seen at the tavern...the ones who had been watching him. He asked himself if he was being paranoid, thinking they were following him or was it just a mere coincidence and that were locals moving along their way; after all he was the stranger there, not they.

His instincts and training convinced him to think otherwise. Illya headed around the next corner, looking back to see if they were still tailing him, which they were. He quickened his pace as did they. When the street he was following narrowed to but an alley; he took off at a dead run, with his pursuers hot on his heels.

The Russian was at a disadvantage, they knew the area and he did not. When there were less people around he finally drew his Walther; ducking inside an arched doorway intending to ambush them; taking them down with sleep darts.

The door behind him suddenly opened as he spun around to come face to face with Anuncis.

"Illya? What are you doing here?"

"Quick, inside _now_! I will explain." He pushed her through the door of the shop without waiting for her reply.

"What is going on?"

He put his finger to her lips, quieting her; pulling her back away from the door as the men following him ran past; he waited a moment to speak to her until it was clear.

"Those men were after me, they were from the tavern where Napoleon and I had eaten a a short while ago; they had been staring at me the whole time were there."

"Why do you think they were chasing you?"

"I am not sure, yet it is obvious that I am a foreigner...perhaps they were intending to rob me?" He guessed.

"That could be true. " Anucis said, " this is not a safe area, especially for one who looks like you."

"Lemantha_why? He asked in Arabic." Why might that be?" he smiled.

"Oh big blue puppy dog eyes and looking quite sensitive and vulnerable."

Illya let out a laugh. " I have been called quite a few things in my life, but never sensitive and vulnerable!"

"I think you are." she smiled back at him.

The Russian stepped back from her as a thought passed his mind. "And if it is so unsafe here; why may I ask is it that you are here? " he paused for a second, "Are you not supposed to be working at the museum until four o'clock?"

She reacted with an acerbic tone to his questioning, answering him curtly." I go where I please when I please. For _your_ information, I was checking on some antiquities that were reported being for sale here. It is part of my job to investigate such things as there is a black market trade for the illegal sale of our national treasures."

"I apologize, I did not mean to infer that your actions were anything less than forthright." He switched to Arabic. "Hal beem kanek mosa'adati? Adu'ta tareequi_could you help me? I am lost. I fear I have gotten myself somewhat turned around while I was being chased."

"Apology accepted Illya. Come now let's get you safely back to your hotel before your friends return. Your Arabic is quite good by the way and your accent is near perfect."

"_Near_ perfect?"

"Well you have more of a Sudanese accent?"

"Oh?" he smiled playfully at her.

"But if you are around me long enough; I _can_ help you improve it."

"Most kind of you to offer, perhaps we can do that over dinner?"

"Perhaps." she blushed again but this time did not cover her face with the veil.

Anucis knew a quick route taking them back to the more populated and open area, as she held the handsome Russian by the arm, leading him back to the hotel.

She accompanied him up to the hotel room. Illya opened the door, finding it empty and the bed looking as though it had been remade. He took a good guess that Napoleon was off at the bar, seeking a scotch and bit of feminine companionship, as was his habit.

"Would you care to come in?" he asked, as his libido was calling out to him to do so.

Anucis obliged without answering, closing the door behind her. In a moment she was in Illya's arms kissing him passionately as she ran her fingers through his blond locks.

He didn't resist her, though it was not in his habit to be so readily enticed by a woman, as he tended to avoid their entanglements more often than not, but from the moment their eyes met, he was bewitched by her. The fact that she was drawn to him left him no choice but to surrender to their mutual desires.

They helped remove each other's clothing in a frenzy, with the eager anticipation that only the thought of love-making could trigger.

He admired her beautiful body that had been hidden beneath the loose-fitting abaya as he ran his hands long her soft skin. She was slender, with lovely breasts that were larger than he would have guessed and they called to his lips. He kissed her on the throat then worked his way down to her bosoms; taking turns at tasting each one, teasing her brown nipples with his mouth until they became erect and at the same time Anucis fondled him.

Illya placed his hands under her arms, lifting her easily as he lowered her on to him; she gasped at the sensation of his entering her. He leaned her back against the tall cherry wood bedpost as he thrust into her gently while her breasts were just the right height for him to continue caressing them with his tongue. She reached out grasping handfuls of his hair in her excitement while he nibbled on her.

After a few minutes he leaned Anucis over, laying her down on the bed, making love to her to her in the classic missionary position. She moaned softly as she stoked the skin of his pale chest with her fingers; losing herself in the blueness of his eyes.

He suddenly rolled her over in one simple motion, putting her on top of him; she leaned forward as she moved her pelvis, pressing her breasts against him as her long silken black hair cascaded across his face. Illya could smell the scent of jasmine in it and breathed deeply allowing it to soothe him.

She sat up, supporting her weight on her knees as she began to undulate faster, becoming almost frenetic, while he held her steady with his hands.

"Faa_no," he whispered in Arabic, " slow down, not yet." He lifted her from him, holding her by the waist as he lowered her to her hands and knees, then took her from behind, controlling his urge to release himself as her moans became louder.

Eventually then lay on the divan at the foot of the bed, as Illya continued his steady thrusting, laying side by side. She arched her back towards him, enabling the Russian to reach her breast with his mouth, continuing to suck on her nipple while reaching down giving her further stimulation with his fingers.

Anucis tightened her muscles around him; sending his head reeling with pleasure. She brought him close to that perfect moment, sensing the control that she had over him; causing him to moan as he felt what she was doing.

"Ilyãs!" she called his name in Arabic, "Na'am_yes!" she cried out as he felt her muscles contract tightly then quiver as she climaxed; then he released himself with a soft groan as he raised his head back, lost in his own moment of ecstasy.

He snuggled into the crook of her neck as her held her close to him, ignoring that they were both soaked with sweat from their vigorous love-making.

"Jayed_good?" he whispered in Arabic.

"Oh na'am, shukran_yes,thank you," she whispered.

"Mmm al'afw_you are welcome." he smiled.

"And you? " she giggled.

"Mmm... oh yes, very good. Merci mademosielle." He answered her softly in French.

"Avec plaisir monsieur_you are welcome sir," she said as she rested her head against his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

They lay together then in silence, still joined until Illya shrank from her, then he kissed her again passionately on the lips. They were both drenched in perspiration from their love-making as the turning of the ceiling fan had done little to cool them. He rose from the divan, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher on the dresser; offering it to her but she declined with a shake of her head before stretching her arms and legs like a long sleek cat.

Illya swallowed the water greedily when he heard the turning of a key in the lock and the door opening unexpectedly. He grabbed his Walther instinctively from from the dresser top, aiming it at the intruder.

"Napoleon!" he barked, " why did you not knock?"

Solo stood there eyeing his partner standing completely nude, while Anucis pulled the red sheet from the bed, barely covering her gorgeous body.

"You could have put a sock on the doorknob you know?"

Illya did not answer, but simply picked his trousers up from the floor; slipping into them, but leaving the zipper and button undone.

"Do you mind giving giving us a little more privacy please?" Illya stared wide-eyed at his partner.

'Yeah, ugh sure, " Napoleon smiled as he took in the image of Anucis' nubile form laying sanguine across the divan. She giggled at him as he turned to leave the room.

"Do not come back for a while?" Illya called down the hall after him, as he stuck his sock on the handle this time. " better still, I will call you."

He was feeling quite satisfied with himself for once, getting a bit of pay back for all the times he'd been locked out of their hotel room while Napoleon amused himself with an amorous rendez-vous.

He undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor, then climbed onto the divan again kneeling over Anucis as she spread her legs inviting him to return. He slipped into her again beginning their next round of love-making.

They ended up in the shower, rinsing and soaping away the perspiration. The woman admired his lithe muscular body, ignoring the multitude of scars thinking that his skin was pale like alabaster and his hair the gold of Ra himself.

Anucis lowered herself in front of him, letting the water cascaded down her back as gently pushing back the sheath of his uncircumcised member, teasing him to attention with her tongue and mouth. He took her from behind one last time, then they rinsed themselves under the cooling water of the shower.

Illya called room service placing an order for mint tea, yogurt and fresh fruit.

"I take it from your lack of inhibitons that you are not strict Muslim?" he asked her as he watched her get dressed.

"Oh I am not Muslim at all. I am Christian, Lebanese actually and obviously not strict as you say. If I was, then I would not have been able to enjoy being with you."

He sat on the divan beside her, running his fingers up her arm. "Not to sound rude, but you do not make a general habit of seducing foreigners do you?"

Her laughter was soft and seductive. " No only handsome blonds with soulful blue eyes and around here they are a rarity; makes it hard when you have a thing for blonds."

That brought out his shy crooked little smile. "You are a conundrum Anucis, a woman of antiquity who wears the hajib out of respect, but at the same time you are quite liberated, shall we say?"

"Is that such a problem that you wouldn't want to go to bed with me again?"

He reached out pulling her into his arms, giving her another long kiss, letting his tongue give her his answer. "Will that tide you over until later?"

She gasped for breath once he had released her. "Umm yes? As long as you promise to make love to me again?"

He smiled at her as he gazed into her dark eyes. "Na'am, Ghaniya_ yes, most definitely, beautiful woman."

There was a knock at the door, and after verifying it was the room service; Illya took delivery of the food, then laid the tray on the bed; returning to Anucis' side on the divan.

He popped a grape into his mouth then leaned forward feeding it to her with another kiss.

Anucis laughed again, softly like the tinkling of bells." You are such a ghazai_flirt!"

He too laughed," My partner might say otherwise. At home they call me the _Ice Prince_."

"And where is home Illya?"

"That I am afraid I cannot say."

"But you are not an American as is Napoleon?"

"No, I am Russian." He said taking a sip of tea.

"Ah, then it must be uncomfortable here with our climate and landscape?" she said as she ran the back of her hand along his cheek.

"It is true, I am not a fan of the sand and sun...and heat." He popped another grape into his mouth, the took her hand, kissing the palm.

"And what else do they call you besides Ice Prince, is Illya Kuryakin your full name?"

"No it is Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, the patronymic name comes from my father Nickolaí."

"And your family is in Russia?"

He suddenly looked very sad to her at that question. "I am sorry for prying Illya."

He looked down at his wristwatch, distracting himself from the topic of family.

"It is time I called Napoleon and we see to the business at hand and that is trying to find Zeinab Hazziz and the other missing girls."

Illya picked up a cigarette case from the dresser; opening it in front of her, finally calling his dejected partner who was having no success in the Napoleon Bar.

"About time?" he grumbled.

"Fair play" Illya said allowing his British linguistic influences to show, "now you know how I feel."

Napoleon could practically see his partner grinning through his communicator."Solo out."

He saw the sock was no longer there upon his return to the hotel room but knocked his code just to be on the safe side. Illya opened the door with a sly smile, letting him back inside.

"Remember, pay back's a bitch, " Napoleon whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"Yes, I know. So how does it feel to be on the receiving end for once?"

He ignored his partner, choosing instead to pay attention to Anucis who was still laying on the divan, but this time fully clothed.

"So are you ready to take us to that tea room now?'

"Mais bien sûr_ but of course," she answered in French.

"Oh mais vous parlez français madamoiselle, comment enchanter_ oh you speak French, how enchanting?" Napoleon said as he kissed her hand.

Illya reached over, pulling Anucis' hand from Napoleon's, taking it defensively in his own.

"Time to go." he said sharply.

"A moment please, there is something that I must get from my friend Fariz who works here. It will make our travels through the city easier and may prevent a repeat of your earlier incident Illya." she said as she disappeared out through the door.

"And what exactly was that all about?"

"Remember the men that I believed were staring at me in the restaurant today? Well they apparently were interested in me for some reason; feeling the need to chase me though the... shall we say rougher part of the city. I lost them, but ran into Anucis there by pure chance. She helped me find my way back here and, well you know the rest." he said trying to look a little blasé.

Napoleon refrained from asking any questions about how Anucis was in bed as he knew from the past, his partner's mouth was closed tight as a clam when it came to discussing his love life, little of it as there was.

The woman returned a short while later carrying with her a set of traditional Bedouin robes; long white tunics, sleeveless coats and kufiyya head cloths, a red and white patterned one for Napoleon, and a plain white one for Illya; each held in place by heavy woolen coils.

"Nice dress," Illya quipped to Napoleon as they walked out the door of their hotel room.

They put both wore pairs of dark glasses as they followed Anucis, who had now covering herself with a simpler flowing robe made of black cloth; wrapping her hair completely in her hajib so that it was not visible.

Together the walked in the stifling heat while blending among the crowds on the streets as she lead them to the tea house, seemingly disguised from prying eyes, or so they thought.

They heard adhan, the call to prayer, watching dozens of people dutifully unfurling their sajad prayer rugs and prostrating themselves reverently; facing east to Mecca.

"Alluhu Akbar, Alluau Akbar, Alluau Akbar, Alluhu Akbar." the muadhan called announcing the time of prayer to the faithful, his steady voice echoing from above. The voices of other muadhan could be heard in the distance from other minarets throughout the city.

They kept moving along with the rest of the crowds who were not observant, as they followed closely behind Anucis until they reached the tea house. There was no sign out side; the exterior was worn and in sore need of a new coat of paint. A single pillar in front of the open door supported the the roof, it's surface covered in pale blue paint that was little by little, chipping away. Natural wicker chairs and tables sat empty in front due to the heat of he day. The hookah pipes sat remainded on the tables.

Anucis sat herself at one of the tables to wait as the two UNCLE agents entered the establishment. There were a half dozen or so men inside, some smoking hookahs, others drinking tea and playing backgammon. The were all dressed simply in contemporary shirts and trousers and none in traditional garb.

Illya nodded his head, placing his palm to his chest. "As-Salamu 'alakuma_peace be upon you."

"Wa 'alaakumu a salamu wa rahmatu I-lahi wa barakatuh_may God's blessings be upon you," one of the older men responded to him.

Illya continued in Arabic for a moment, commenting about the tea house as they offered he and Napoleon mint tea, which they accepted to be polite.

"Yes, my name is Illya Kuryakin and I wonder if you could help us, we are in search of a lost child, her name is Zeinab Hazziz. He switched to English, pulling Napoleon into the conversation." This is my partner, Napoleon Solo."

"Gentlemen, are you aware that someone is stealing the daughters of Cairo?"

"We had heard the rumor," one said, " It was not until the police came by looking for the daughter of Mustafa el-Hazziz that we realized the stories were indeed true. It is a terrible thing, that our daughters are not safe."

"Many people have locked their children away and do not trust letting them out even when accompanied by a male relative. After all the daughter of el-Hazziz was lost at this very place while accompanied by her own brother. Allah be merciful on that family and all those who are suffering, may His hand guide them back home safely."

"We are trying to help that happen." Illya said respectfully.

"Were any of you here the day that Zeinab Hazziz was taken?" Napoleon asked them.

"I was," answered a younger man wearing a striped polo shirt, " I am a friend of Nabil's. My name is Tairq al-Sayeed. I have known Zenaib since we were young children."

"Was there anyone hanging around that looked suspicious, say anyone who looked like they didn't belong?"

"Yes come to think of it, there were several men. They were dressed in Bedouin clothing, such as yourselves but, grey striped robes...yes both were wearing the same outer robe and there was an emblem on sorts on the left breast."

Illya showed no reaction but his mind darted instantly to the emblem of a certain bird.

"Do you remember what it looked like Tariq?"

Tariq paused for a moment, casting his eyes upward as he tried to picture it in his mind's eye. "Yes! It was a cartouche."

"The symbols, do you recall them?" Illya asked.

"Yes, there were three images, a woman kneeling on the right one in the middle I am not sure what the next one was...it looked like a half circle and the third was an an empty throne."

The Russian pulled a small notebook from his inside pocket, thumbing through the pages rapidly then he drew the symbols as he copied them on a small piece of paper then held the drawing out to Tariq.

"Was this it?"

"Yes exactly! That was it." He became very excited, gesturing with his hands; Tariq sensed that this was important information.

"What it it?" Napoleon asked.

"It is the cartouche for the goddess Isis." Illya said solemnly." and it was also I suspect on the robes of the men who were after me today, though it was difficult to see the details while I was being chased.

"Please if there is anything I can do to help? Zeinab is very" Tariq said as he paused, looking around, lowering his voice to a whisper," she is _special_ to me?"

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. "Girlfriend?"

"No no, though I would like her to be more than that" he smiled innocently." I was going to seek her father's permission to marry her. Please let me help you find my Kalila_ beloved?"

That came as a bit of a surprise to the agents, knowing that Dr. Hazziz was unaware of this bit of information.

"No Tariq, this may be too dangerous. We'lll handle it." Napoleon told him with a handshake.

They thanked the young man and the others for the tea, and their assistance then headed outside to rejoin their guide, but she was not seated in the chair where they had left her in. They searched up and down the street for her but found no sigh of Anucis Sakr.


	5. Chapter 5

Napoleon and Illya retraced their steps after having no success in their vain search for Anucis.

"She is a very independent woman," Illya sighed, "perhaps she returned to the museum?"

He said that knowing that it was purely wishful thinking on his part as it did not make sense that she would take the trouble to guide them into the city then abandon them; especially after having spent the afternoon in bed with him.

"Well that's our next best bet I suppose?Heading back to the museum?" Napoleon said, "In the meantime we need to keep a lookout for those Isis characters."

They walked along the narrow streets, filled with the aromas of cooking that wafted though the air, the sounds of loud voices speaking Arabic, and the laughter of children who would periodically run up to them asking for coins.

"Yalla imishi_ go, go on!" Illya snapped at them, chasing them off; that surprising his partner as the Russian was usually wonderful with children. It was obvious that he was worried about Anucis.

They finally reached Khan al-Khalil bazaar; seeing crowds of people gathering as they watched a group of whirling dervishes...men spinning and spinning and spinning non-stop with their brightly colored skirts twirling out around them as they moved to the sounds of traditional musicians playing rebab, a lute-like stringed instrument, the high-pitched mizmar twin pipes, a wooden flute, tabla and dumbek drums.

"Come with me to the Casbah," Napoleon joked as he surveyed their surroundings.

"Wrong country," The Russian answered with his usual dead-pan expression.

"Why does everything have to always be so black and white with you?"

"Makes it easier to dress in the morning," Illya quipped in reply.

The two agents watched the dancers working themselves into a controlled trance. The dervish believed they would experience God through their continued movement; none of them faltered or lost their balance as they spun hypnotically.

The music was that of the Fellahin, meaning peasant. Beladi, a style popular in northern Egypt; it had an earthy feel to it as they played an even 4/4 rhythm.

Suddenly a belly dancer appeared in her glittering and diaphanous costume; a gold beaded mask covering her face; it's fringe dangling down as it caressed her large breasts. She swirled in her sparkling veils as she shimmied, bumped and gyrated her hips, making delicate hand gestures as she moved.

"Ay-ah! It is Bashirah the bringer of joy!" They called out to her as she was a well known dancer and a favorite. "Yallah_ let's go! Yallah habibit_ let's go baby! Na'am!"

The crowds had gathered heavily enough that it forced Napoleon to stop, giving him a brief moment to watch the woman as she moved seductively around the crowd. They pushed in closer, barging to get a closer look at the veiled woman, Napoleon turned back, suddenly realizing he had been separated from his partner.

It was then that he spotted them; the men in the grey robes with the small symbol of Isis emblazoned on them. He turned in the other direction; fighting his way through the mass of pushing and shoving bodies that had gathered, trying to look over their heads to spot his partner to give him warning.

He couldn't see Illya among the throngs of men dressed in Bedouin clothing, virtually the same as the Russian.

"Illya!" He called, then again louder." ILLYA!" But no heads turned to look in his direction as all eyes were focused on the dancer. People started clapping to the rhythm of the music as it became faster and faster as did the movement of her hips when she began to spin.

Napoleon finally broke free of the human wall that surrounded him, stepping away from and ducking into a doorway; he pulled his cigarette-case communicator, opening it flipping up the cigarettes to reveal the control as he turned the lighter-microphone towards him.

"Channel F- Kuryakin" he waited then repeated the message, " Illya, come in? Can you hear me? Where are you buddy?" but there was only silence.

"Shit." he mumbled a profanity under his breath, wondering what the hell he was going to do now.

The slight Russian felt himself nearly being crushed by the larger men that surrounded him, he could barely see past them as they pushed forward; the crowd swelling like a wave, pulling him away from Napoleon. He called out, but there was no way that Solo would be able to hear him over he noise of the men as they clapped to the music.

From their reaction and the change in the sound; he guessed that it was no longer whirling dervishes dancing, but more likely a belly dancer from the adjustment in the tempo and feeling as the music had become more exotic and sensual.

He pulled his communicator from an inner pocket but before he could open the case to contact Napoleon; it was knocked flying from his hand; landing somewhere on the ground amongst the multitudes of feet that were stepping there.

"Pizdets_fuck." He mumbled in Russian. He was screwed without his communicator and would have to wander until he found Napoleon.

"Der'mo_ shit" He swore under his breath as he felt the beginnings of a bad headache. At that moment an immense elbow slammed into the Russian's face; he lashed out in Arabic.

"Ibn el-Kalb_son of a dog, get off me!" Illya barked at the man.

"Zebi_ fuck you, little man!" a deep voice answered him back.

Illya was in no mood and was becoming more pissed off by the second as he felt crushed in the embrace of the crowd.

"Kis emak_ fuck your mother!" he snarled in Arabic, then regretted it instantly as a huge fist plowed into his stomach, doubling him over and sending him down to the ground.

There were feet everywhere as he rolled to avoid being trampled by them. Illya suddenly saw his communicator amid the chaos; he reached out to grab it then watched in frustration as it was kicked, disappearing again.

The he felt himself being grabbed by the back of his robe, being pulled upwards into the air. The giant of a man held him, dangling; laughing with a deep basso profundo voice. He looked at the man's robe seeing the Isis cartouche.

"Waa-faqru_ damn," he sighed in Arabic as the last thing he remembered was a huge fist coming straight at his face.

Napoleon muscled his way back into the crowd, hoping that his partner being a smaller man was just trapped in the throng; not able to make his way out.

He used his hands, pulling the kufiyyas away from every man who was wearing the same head covering as Illya. A few men took a swing at him, shouting words in Arabic that he presumed were not well wishes towards him.

The dancing ended, Bashirah the belly dancer gathered her coins from the street then disappeared with her musicians as did the crowd, leaving only a few tourists and shoppers behind. There was no sign of Illya until Napoleon saw one of the street urchins grabbing something shiny and familiar looking from the ground.

"Laa'a_no, " He at least knew that word, "I'll take that," he said as he snatched the silver cigarette case from the boy's grasp, but as he protested Napoleon shoved money into his hand.

"Shukrah shukrah_ thank you thank you!" The boy said when he saw how much the agent hand given him. It was probably more Egyptian pounds than the boy would see in a year.

It was Illya's communicator alright, and still intact. Napoleon sighed an even bigger sigh as it would have been the only means that he had to track the Russian with it's homing signal. "Oh boy." he said out loud. It was obvious that the Isis men were the ones that took his partner. Why was the question, then of course where?

Napoleon heard a familiar voice calling to him but in Arabic.

"Sayyd! Ha Dratok Solo!"

It was the young man from the tea room.

He walked up to Napoleon, breathless as if he had been in a hurry.

"A salam alaykum," Tariq said.

Napoleon put his hand to his forehead, trying to remember what few words in Arabic that he knew.

"Wa-alaaykum e-salam" he said returning the greetin, then prefaced his response,"Ma-atakallam arabi_ I don't speak Arabic. Sorry. Fransawi_french?"

Tariq shook his head.

"Inglizi_english?"

"Na'am, yes I do speak the English ha Dratok Solo. I come after you, looking. I wish to help find Zeinab, please?"

Napoleon knew he was going to need some help with the language, Illya was translator and now he needed one to help not only with the assignment but to find Anucis Sakr and Illya Kuryakin as well.

He would have to involve an innocent at this point; he had no choice.

Tariq helped him navigate back through the city, arriving at the museum just before closing time. The two men proceeded directly to the the curator's office, entering after knocking but not waiting to be admitted.

"Marhaba, Mr. Solo. Tariq...what are you doing here?"

"Professor, there have been some unfortunate developments. Mr. Kuryakin has disappeared and Tariq here has been good enough to assist me as a guide and interpreter. Tell me sir, Miss Sakr, has she returned?"

"No she has not, I thought she was with the two of you."

"She was...I'm afraid then she may have to be added to the list of the missing. When we came out of the tea room she was gone."

"Allah. That is terrible as I have just gotten word that another girl disappeared this afternoon. Fatimah Fayed, she is the daughter of the president of our University."

Solo showed not reaction to the news.

"Tell me professor, does Miss Sakr come from a wealthy background?"

"No she does not...she is not even pure Egyptian, Her father was Lebanese and unlike the other girls who are Muslim; she is Christian...though I think the concept of the ancient gods appeal to her sometimes more than Christianity."

"Professor, speaking of the gods. We've come across some people who are wearing what Illya identified as a cartouche of Isis?"

"Isis...ah yes that is the Roman name that most people are familiar with, but her ancient name was Aset. Describe the cartouche to me please?"

Tariq told the professor hieroglyphic symbols he had seen, as he had done so for Illya and Napoleon, and the professor concurred with Kuryakin's identification. It was indeed the symbol for the name of the goddess Isis."

Napoleon was wishing Illya were there at that moment, as he was sure that he'd know about this Isis." I'm not too familiar with Egyptian mythology professor," Solo answered." would you mind?"

"Forgive me Mr. Solo? I am surrounded by it at all times and falsely assume others are as immersed in it as I. Isis is considered a mother figure; worshipped as the ideal mother and wife figure as well as matron of magic and nature. She is the friend to the downtrodden, slaves and underlings. There is the most interesting rebirth myth concerning she and her husband Osiris" The professor was very enthusiastic but then stopped himself. " Oh but I prattle on Mr. Solo."

Napoleon sat in a chair in front of the desk, resting his head on his clenched hand, deep in thought as if he were posed for an Auguste Rodin bronze figure."

"No no, professor, please go on." he said. He wasn't sure what it would do to help but it was related somehow and the more information he had the better chance he'd have of saving everyone.

"Osiris was brother-husband to Isis and was tricked at a banquet by his brother Set into a wooden sarcophagus, the coffin was sealed set adrift upon the Nile as Set wished his brother dead that he might assume Osiris' position of king."

"Isis went in search of her husband, eventually finding the sarcophagus embedded in a cedar tree in Lebanon, after which she hid it in a marshland."

"Excuse me professor, let me get this straight. Isis and Osiris were brother and sister but were husband and wife?"

Dr. Hazziz let his glasses slip down on his nose as he looked over them at the American. "Yes Mr. Solo, that was also the tradition of the Pharaohs, to intermarry eldest brother to sister and so on."

"Really? Napoleon tried to shake off the sudden thought he had about having to marry is sister Stella; that made him shiver. "No wonder the Pharaohs died out, " he commented.

"That is actually not far off the mark Mr. Solo. Scientists are surmising that they suffered many ailments but alas we are decades away from verifying that those sicknesses were due to incestuous inbreeding."

"Please excuse my interruption Professor, if you could continue?"

"Ah yes, where was I then?"

"Isis hid the coffin in marshlands."

"Yes yes, her brother Set discovered the hidden sarcophagus with the body of his brother Osiris, he then dismembered the corpse, cutting it into fourteen pieces..."

Again Napoleon found himself cringing.

"The pieces each representing the fourteen full moons; he then scattered across Egypt. Isis went in search of them, fearing that without the proper rituals and spells her husband would not be able to go the land of the dead. She found thirteen of the pieces, the penis of Osiris was missing, so she fashioned a phallus of gold to replace it."

Solo found himself biting his lip at the thought of that.

"She performed ritual spells and magic over the body to resurrect Osiris and when he returned to life; they copulated and their son Horus was conceived. Osiris became the god of the underworld, Horus became the god of the heavens and the protector of the sun-god Ra.

"When each Pharaoh died he became Osiris, the king of the dead and the new Pharaoh become Horus his son and Isis his mother. The part of the dead Pharaohs spirit called the Ka, what Christians call the soul was thought to remain in the body but if the body was not given proper care then the former Pharaoh would not be able to to carry out his new duties as King of the dead."

"If this happened; it was believed that if this cycle was broken; then disaster would befall Egypt. To prevent such catastrophe; each dead Pharaoh was mummified. Isis created the first mummy with her husbands body, and is the patroness of the mummification process."

"Wow," Napoleon said as he leaned back in the chair, " that's a lot to digest." and he wondered now how could any of that relate to these people wearing the symbol of Isis?" He was startled for moment by the figure of François Abdul al-Dabaran who appeared silently beside him.

"Ismahi, excusez-moi_ excuse me" François said, bowing slightly with his palm to his breast, "Perhaps I could be of assistance, Monsieur Solo?"


	6. Chapter 6

He awoke to the light tinkling sounds of a piano being played, just a simple riff that seemed vaguely familiar to him as he became aware that he was bound, gagged and laying in the back of a lorry. He struggled for a few moments, trying desperately to loosen the ropes; but it was no use.

It was pitch dark and he couldn't see a thing. He could hear a voice singing in English but then realized it was only a radio being played; though for the life of him; he was not able to remember the name of the song..

He thought it odd given his eidetic memory; that he was having difficulty remembering the title as he rarely forgot such things, but then it was possible his damnable headache was not helping matters. The rough-riding vehicle was jostling him uncomfortably as it continued on it's journey; making him wondered where the end destination would be.

"_See the pyramids along the Nile_

_Watch the sunrise in a tropic isle_

_Just remember darlin' all the while_

_You belong to me."_

"The song," he told himself, "that was the name, You Belong to Me...now who was singing it, who wrote it.?" Illya struggled to focus past the pain in his head as he tried to recall those simple facts.

_"See the marketplace in old Algiers_

_Send me postcards and souvenirs_

_Just remember when a dream appears_

_Your belong to me"_

_"Fly the ocean on a silver plane_

_See the jungle when it's wet with rain_

_Just remember til' your home again_

_You belong to me."_

It suddenly dawned on him, the irony of the lyrics; it could be about him. He, Napoleon and every other agent belonged to U.N.C.L.E...their lives were not their own. They were sent to all these exotic places but in the end they returned to where and to whom they belonged. But it also reminded him that "no one belonged to him, he had no one in this world except himself," then he corrected that though," he had his friend Napoleon and that was a comforting thought and the fact that his partner was the one to usually get him out of such a predicament that he was in at the moment.

He let his mind drift back to just listening to the song as he tried to retrieve more details to help him focus on ignoring the pain in his skull. "Who was it that was singing? Reeves it was Jim Reeves and the song was written by a woman. But who? Kline, Kline...Patsy Kline, " he recollected with satisfaction, but that did not aid in banishing his headache.

The truck hit a particularly bad bump; throwing him into the air and sending him down again to the truck bed with hard hit to his head. Illya tried yelling out, making some sort of noise to let them know of his discomfort. But the men in the cab were too busy arguing in Arabic about which road to take and to watch out for holes.

Some Egyptians had a bad habit of driving at night with their headlights off, so he was sure the ride could get worse if that was the case. He listened as the radio was tuned to a different station; playing middle eastern music as they turned the volume up so much that it even drowned out the sound of the engine. That did not help his headache either.

At some point during the journey he must have fallen asleep, when the vehicle jolted to a stop, startling him awake. He could hear the men arguing again as they got out, one telling the other that they had to give him water for if he arrived dead then _she_ would have their heads. From their arguing; he could discern that one was called Walid the other Hassan and wondered who this she was that the men referred to.

Walid climbed into the back of the truck followed by Hassan, holding an oil lantern in his hand that he hung on one of the support bars that the canvas tarpaulin that served as a roof, was draped over. He pulled the Russian up by his shoulders to a sitting position then removed the rag from his mouth, offering him water.

Illya said nothing, but drank greedily from the canteen; the water had a metallic taste to it but at this point it did not matter as his thirst needed to be quenched.

"Shukran_thank you, " Illya croaked." Can you tell me where you are taking me?"

The man looked at his companion for a second, then as the other shrugged he answered, apparently seeing no harm in it, since the yellow-haired man was securely tied. Illya noticed they were both wearing the grey robes with the emblems of Isis.

"Anas el Wagud"

"Where is that?" He asked, having never heard of it before, though he knew it translated to end or remote end, but that meant nothing to him.

"It is an island in the Nile just beyond the white-water rapids of the first cataract."

Illya paused for a minute trying to recall his geography; there was no island by that name that he knew of in that location, only Agilika and Philae were there just south of Aswan where the new dam was being built.

"Philae?" He recalled there was a temple to Isis there. "The plot thickens?" he mused to himself.

"And why am I being taken there?" he then hedged, hoping the man would be stupid enough to answer.

Walid shook his head."That I cannot tell you, but you will find out soon enough." he smiled at Illya with a toothless grin. " We will arrive just after dawn."

"May I ask what time it is?"

"I do not know? I do not own a watch."

"I have a watch on my wrist...free me and it is yours. It is made of solid gold." Illya lied, knowing it was only gold plate.

The man rolled him over to his side, undoing the buckle on the strap; then held the wristwatch up admiring it. " Shukran, " he laughed as he took it, looking at the time.

"Oh, it is a half hour past five." He shoved the watch in his back pocket then he left the Russian, returning to the cab. A second later the engine started, and they were on the move again. Illya smiled at his clever ploy and the fact that they had left off his gag.

Illya began his countdown as soon as he had pulled the stem on the timepiece then pushed it back in before the fool took the watch from him. Illya estimated another five minutes before it would ignite with a small explosive compound hidden inside the case.

They would have to stop the truck when it went off though it would not be a large explosion; it would be substantial enough to startle them. And if Walid kept the watch in his back pocket; then he would be in for a shocking experience and a burned ass.

The distraction would give Illya the moment he needed to jump out of the back of the truck and make a run for it. He would have a chance while it was still dark giving him an estimated half hour before the sun would rise. His white robes had been removed; all he was wearing were his khaki shirt and pants, so he'd at least blend somewhat with the desert sands. They had taken his boots as well, so that would be a problem once the sun rose and began to pound on the sand. This was if this plan worked?

His mental count darted between Arabic, English then finally he settled into Russian for the final ten seconds...

"Desy'a, devyat',vosem',se', pyat' chetyre, tri...dva...odin." Nothing.

"Der'mo!" he cursed. He could not have made an error in setting it? Then suddenly he heard screams from the cab and felt the truck swerving violently to a stop.

That was his cue as he climbed over the tailgate in an instant and hit the ground running, spotting the river to his right; he headed towards it. Not sure where he could hide, as there were no trees lining this part of the Nile, only stands of tall bullrushes were growing long it's banks.

He slipped down into the water, pushing through the reeds with his head lowered, as his hands were still bound behind his back. He made his way to the edge of the thick growth then into a shallow part of the water figuring he could move more easily while ducking down behind the rushes.

Water was not generally good for knots as it had a tendency to make rope swell but he was hoping he would be able to work his hands free because his skin was wet... at least before the ropes becaome too tight.

Illya could hear Walid and Hassan screaming at each other as the walked along the river bank searching for him, calling to him that it was fruitless for him to try and escape.

Their voices began to grow faint as they walked away from where he hid, but it was too soon to relax. He could only do that once they drove off in their lorry and they would no doubt suffer the consequences from what ever master they served when they reported that they had lost him or that he'd escaped. He continued struggling with his bindings trying to slip his hands free before the ropes absorbed too much of the fresh water.

He had a nagging suspicion that because of the ages of girls taken; they'd no doubt be going off to slavers and now he with his blond, fair skinned looks was heading to be sold into slavery himself. His mind went to the face of the beautiful Anucis, making him feel guilty that it was somehow his fault that she, another unsuspecting soul had been dragged away as well into a life of bondage.

Over the years he had sworn to avoid the involvement of innocents in his dealing with his adversaries, he had also tried to swear off on women as well, but he had not been successful with either resolution. His weakness to follow his own rules could now be causing harm to another and he vowed that if he were able to saver her and the others; then he would try harder to hold steadfast in controlling himself and not fall prey to his emotions.

"Perhaps it was time he lived up to the name of Ice Prince?' he asked himself. "Ice?" he allowed himself to sigh, " ice would be so good right now?" He was thirsty but refrained from drinking the river water, though it was fresh; fearing parasites. He could not afford to get sick while trying to affect his escape.

Illya stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks as he suddenly felt a chill, even in this heat he knew that feeling meant only one thing; he was being watched. He turned his head slowly to the right, then to the left; that was when he saw it; a sizeable elongated head, barely breaking the surface of the water and slowly moving in his direction.

"Shiiit!" He cursed out loud; seeing the huge crocodile now rapidly closing the gap between them. He kicked the water with his legs, trying to propel himself into the rushes. fighting the near panic he felt as he scrambled up the riverbank to dry land. He kept moving assuming the beast would follow him, depending on how badly it wanted to eat him since Nile crocodiles were known to move surprisingly fast on land. This one looked to be about twelve feet long as it continued to move menacingly toward him.

He ran another fifteen feet or so, collapsing to his knees, right in front of Walid and Hassan as the bright sun rose, bathing the landscape in it's light, turning everything a brilliant shade of orange.

Illya bowed his head with with a long sigh of frustration, then felt the stabbing pain of Walid's foot kicking him in the side again and again until he doubled over.

"Intaha_stop, be done!" Hassan yelled, "he must not be damaged!"

Walid ceased his attack but then took a moment to spit on the Russian, "Kosma yara _I swear blood, vengeance will be mine when it comes time for you do die you ibn al- tinayich_son of a fucker!"

"Enough Walid!" Hassan screamed at him.

The two men continued to argue as they picked Illya up under the arms, dragging him back the truck bed and tossing him inside again. This time Hassan remained with him as Walid limped to the driver's door on the right side of the lorry; getting in gingerly behind the wheel as the rear of his trousers had been burned away, revealing his scorched ass-cheeks.

The Russian sat quietly staring with his ice-blue eyes, watching Hassan carefully for any opportunity that might allow him to overcome the man and escape again. The bindings around his wrists were hurting now as the ropes had swollen from the water, making his hands numb with their tightness.

They had not stopped for the required salah_prayers at sunrise so he assumed that they were not Muslim. The Isis cartouche stitched to Hassan's burnoose gave Illya pause; wondering still what it meant.

Walid seemed to hit every rock and hole in existence as the two passengers were tossed about in the back. Hassan stood up, stepping towards the cab screaming again about his counterpart's driving skills. "Coos akt al laglesh Walid_ screw this shit Walid! Pull over and let me drive? You are killing me here!"

Kurayakin lashed out, kicking Hassan behind he knee with his foot, knocking the man off balance, falling backwards and as soon as he hit the floor boards, Illya lifted his leg, bringing his heel down violently against the man's Adams apple, killing him instantly. He then threw himself out the back of the moving vehicle, pulling himself into a ball to better absorb the impact when he hit the ground, then rolled. He jumped up running quickly from the truck.

He was barely twenty feet away when he was stopped in his tracks at the sound of a rifle repeat and a bullet, obviously a warning shot , whizzing past his head.

"Yalla imshi kalb_ let's go dog! Turn around slowly and get on your knees!"

What he saw when he finally turned, made him stop in disbelief.

"Down now! Bow you cur!"

Illya Kuryakin fell to his knees, lowering his head in compliance; feeling his chest tighten with just a tinge of fear.

"Aya! It is true, he has the gold of Ra himself in his hair and his skin is white like the purest of alabaster. The gods have sent us our vessel at last!"


	7. Chapter 7

"Pardonnez l'intrusion s'il vous plait, messieurs_ please pardon the intrusion gentlemen. It was not my intention to eaves drop, but I came to tell you something professor and I overheard your conversation."

François' voice seemed different to Napoleon this time, it was clearer, and strong, not the strange little cracking voice from when they had first met him.

"Dr. el-Hazziz I feel at this point that I must inform you that your son Nabil has returned to Egypt without your knowledge and consent. He has felt compelled to search for his sister in spite of your wishes for him to return to his studies and he has been staying with me the last few days."

Professor Hazziz looked surprised at that bit of news, as his son was not one to go against his wishes.

"And where is my son at present?" he spoke with obvious annoyance in his voice.

"He is waiting outside sir. Once I told him that I was going to inform you of his return; he decided to make his presence known to you."

The professor drew his attention to his son's friend Tariq. " And did you know of this?'

"Yes sir. I am sorry, but Nabil made me swear not to tell you."

"Very well then, " said Mustafa Hazziz, " bring my son in please?"

François bowed his head slightly then turned to do so, then stopped himself as he remembered he'd forgotten to tell them something.

'Yes sir, in a moment if you please. I over heard your conversation regarding goddess and and these people wearing her cartouche on their clothing," François hesitated, as if he were nervous regarding what he was about to say. " There is in existence today an Isis cult, followers of the goddess who have not given up the belief in many of the old ways. These men wearing her symbol are not members of her true cult and are false."

"How do you know that?" Napoleon asked.

"Because Monsieur Solo I am a true believer and a follower of the lady Aset." François pulled up his right sleeve, revealing a small tattoo of the Isis cartouche on his inner arm.

"Only the followers of she the great mother bear this mark and keep it a secret. Our ways are private and we would never involve outsiders and be so _public_ about our association with her."

Napoleon and Dr. Hazziz looked at each other in surprise.

"Why do I have a feeling there's more that you're not telling us?'

"That is correct Monsieur. I was hesitant to speak up about the kidnappings as I was not sure as to their reason as were you, but now I know why. There is a very little known Isis-Osiris legend that has been passed down among her followers and you will not find it written on any papyrus or temple wall."

"It is the legend of the seven maidens and it was because of that story I took my Arabic name al-Dabaran, in honor of they who were the called the _followers_. The maidens were seven young girls selected by Aset for their honor and beauty to follow, in order to serve the lord Osiris in the afterlife as he reigned in the otherworld as king and judge of all the dead. It was not until a seventh daughter of Egypt was recently taken that I put these thoughts together and once I overheard your conversation; it convinced me that it was indeed true."

"There are _eight_ women missing François, not seven." Napoleon corrected him.

"Non, Monsieur Solo, I said seven daughters of Egypt. Anucis Sakr is not a daughter of Egypt, she is Lebanese."

"What was true François?" Tariq interrupted.

"Tonight it will be the full moon, the lunar cycle being tied into the Osiris rebirth story and of course the seven maidens. I believe that these false people are going to enact the rebirth of Osiris, and if the Isis story is followed according to the lunar cycle; then Isis must conceive a son by him during that time. We true believers have heard a rumor that this re-enactment will indeed happen. The later stories have set Horus their son as avenging the death of his father by killing Set in combat."

"If we take this a step further, Set represents Egypt who has broken the cycle and disrupted the line of the Pharaohs, rebirth of a new Horus would in time bring down the corrupt ways of our country and return Egypt to the glory of its past and old beliefs. This is what these people believe."

Napoleon raised his eye brows at that one. "You mean like a Messianic belief in the birth of a saviour? These people are part of a Messiah cult?"

"Exactement Monsieur Solo."

"So they truly believe the real Isis and Osiris are going to accept an invitation to their party?" Napoleon was to say the least, skeptical that was going to happen.

"Not in a physical sense but in a metaphysical one," François said, "Isis and Osiris will inhabit bodies chosen for them in order to complete the ritual copulation and conceive the child Horus."

Napoleon felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It didn't require being a rocket scientist to put the numbers together; the seven missing girls were the handmaidens and, Anucis and Illya...Isis and Osiris? He came to the quick conclusion that they were going to be used this bizarre ritual by a group of fanatics. Napoleon bit his lower lip wondering how he was going to get his partner and the others out of this one, being they were under a deadline of the full moon.

"François, so tell me after this ritual is completed...what would happen?" Napoleon was almost afraid to ask that question.

Osiris and the seven handmaidens would be mummified and sent to the land of the dead. Leaving Isis to remain to give birth to the savior of Kemet."

"Kemet?"

"That is the ancient name for Egypt."

"Oookay? Do you have any idea where this could be happening?"

"There is only one place, a sacred place. It is the temple of Aset on the island of Philae, it lies eight hours drive south of Cairo to Aswan from there you would have to take a boat on the Nile for the final leg of the journey."

François looked at the door, "Please, Professor let me fetch your son for you."

Tariq was the first to speak, saying what Napoleon had already come to as a conclusion. "Mr. Kuryakin and Anucis Sakr are going to be part of this ritual as will Zeinab...they are going to murder her and your friend and the others I think?" His voice trembled with fear, " Please Mr. Solo do not let them harm my Zeinab?"

"Your Zeinab?" Hazziz snapped" What do you mean by that Tariq!"

He stopped himself for moment as thinking as only a father could, then reaching down, he removed his shoe holding it up then hurling it at the young man." You have defiled my Zeinab!" he assumed. "You filthy dog! You son of a whore! Get out of here you betrayer of my trust!'

Tariq ducked, avoiding the flying shoe then stepped behind Napoleon for protection.

"Hold on Professor, calm down!" Napoleon barked." give the boy a chance to speak will you?"

"Go ahead say your words!" Hazziz snapped.

"Mustafa el-Hazziz, you have been like a father to me and welcomed me into your home. I would never betray your trust by laying a hand on your daughter. Her virtue is intact but I admit that I do love her, and have since we were children and someday I wish to marry your Zeinab with your blessings, but that day cannot come until I am worthy of her and can make a good living to support her. Once I graduate from University and gain a good position; it would be then that I would ask that I have your permission to marry your only daughter."

Hazziz's anger was diffused instantly at the boys eloquence and obvious honesty.

"Please forgive me for having to tell you this in such a way, but my fear for Zeinab's life..."

"I understand Tariq," Hazziz said, " You are being honorable. Thank you. I know you are a good lad. Tell me, did my deceiving son know of your love for his sister?"

"Yes sir, but I too made him swear an oath to keep it secret. Nabil is like a brother to me and he knew my intentions toward his sister were forthright. He knows that I have never even held Zeinab's hand."

The door to the office as young Nabil Hazziz walked in behind François. "Marhaban waalid_hello father," he said.

The conversation between father and son was brief and mercifully calm though animated but it was completely in Arabic and Napoleon had no clue what they were saying.

"Pardon Mr. Solo. I did not mean to be rude as I know you do not speak our language. It was just easier to speak quickly with my son."

"Nabil, this is Mr. Napoleon Solo of The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement."

"So you're a spy?" he said innocently.

"Nabil!"

"Sorry aba'." Nabil bowed slightly to Napoleon. " A Salaam."

"Nice to meet you, and we prefer the title of enforcement agent." Napoleon nodded impatiently, "Look, Professor we really don't have much time if we're going to get to Philae?"

"Sorry Mr. Solo, yes we digress. What can we do to help?" Hazziz said.

"Alright, " Napoleon said as he slipped his Walther from his shoulder holster, placing it on the professors deck, " can anyone here fire a gun?"

"I can Mr. Solo," Nabil said."

"Good, Tariq?"

"No but I am a fast learner."

"Nabil, " his father said in surprise, " You have touched a weapon?"

"Yes aba' there are many things that I have learned in France." the young man smiled." I must tell you the truth aba' I am not just a medical student; I work for as an agent for our government as a member of intelligence." Nabil pulled out his ID then drew his own weapon, placing it openly on the desk as had Napoleon. "So you see Mr. Solo I am quite familiar with U.N.C.L.E."

"You are working in intelligence?" His father was completely shocked.

"Yes aba' I was actually involved in the investigation of Mossad's _Operation Damocles_ this past year." He smiled knowingly.

"I recall that, " Napoleon said," it involved letter bombs and abduction of German scientists working on your government's rocket program."

"Yes Mr. Solo, I was not happy when I discovered that our government was employing former Nazis to do their research. Ben-Gurion ended the operation and has just demanded the resignation of the chief of Mossad because of it."

Napoleon smiled. At least he had someone on his side who'd know what he was doing and had a sense of morality as well.

Illya Kuryakin was pulled from his knees, being dragged up by two bald-headed men dressed as if they had just stepped out of a wall painting on some Egyptian tomb. They were clothed in short pleated linen wrap-around skirts tied at the waist by a golden cord. On their feet were sandals with curved toes, woven of either papyrus or palm. Their eyes were lined with black kohl eyeliner in the ancient Egyptian fashion and they were adorned with golden hoops in their ears and beaded collars around their necks.

Their look of antiquity was pulled back to present day for the Russian as he saw a man dressed in the same fashion standing behind them holding a Hakim rifle, one that was used by the Egyptian army.

Illya watched, thinking how absurd it looked as the armed man, dressed as he was grabbed the bolt action of the rifle, pushing the sliding cover all the way forward, then pulling it back; cocking the rifle again and aiming it directly at him this time.

"Yalla imshi!" he ordered in Arabic as the other men guided the still bound Kuryakin in front of them, heading toward a felucca that was anchored along the shore line.

Apparently he was walking too slow, as he tried to glance around to get a better look at the surroundings; farther down the Nile going southwards he could see some ruins in the distance on an island and assumed it was Philae. His guards shoved him roughly on the shoulder in an attempt to move him along.

"Do not touch me! Hmar_jackass!" Illya swore at him in Egyptian Arabic; drawing in his leg then lashing out to a side kick, driving the heel of his bare foot into the man's knee and breaking it. The guard hit the ground screaming in pain, but the slight Russian's triumph was short lived again as he was hit in the head with the rifle butt.

He went down, dazed but conscious as they dragged him to the boat; tossing him in. A few minutes later they set sail; Illya hiked himself to a sitting position as he watched as curiously few boats glided past on the water. Normally the Nile would be covered with tourist boats bringing their passengers to view any ancient site.

They arrived at the island within a few minutes as the current and winds were strong; disembarking on the southern steps then up and around the side of the structure to the main temple complex. Illya realized as he scanned it, that the island and some to the buildings were partially submerged; remembering that the construction of the Aswan dam, nearly 8 kilometers away was probably causing it.

It was no wonder there was little tourist traffic to the site, as it was closed for that very reason, leaving it unoccupied for these strange people to do what ever it was they had planned. It was obvious to him now that they were not slavers and he suspected they had to be part of some sort of bizarre throwback to a cult to the goddess Isis.

The heat of the day was intense with the sun blazing down on the fair-skinned Russian. His khaki shirt was soaked with sweat as he climbed the staircase to the temple proper; repeating the never ending litany to himself of how much he hated the heat. He was lead through the main entrance, the portal flanked on either side with two large granite lions statues; once inside there was an open courtyard with rows of columns on either side.

They continued on through a secondary entrance facing the immense propyla that were pyramid-like in form and colossal in dimension. Once through that door, they faced a smaller temple covered in sculptures representing the birth of Ptolemy under the figure of the god Horus. Illya recognized it immediately from his studies that this structure was the Mammissi, the birthing house where legend had it Horus was conceived and born of his mother Isis and his father Osiris.

Illya slowed, looking at the magnificent carvings for a second, only to be shoved again by the guard, but this time he could not retaliate with the rifle pointed at his back. They moved to the right, passing into another small inner courtyard with a row of ten columns to the right, all topped with the lotus design, there were remnants of bright colors having been painted on their tops, behind them were the entrances to five rooms.

He was taken inside the first room, and it was there he saw the other captives for the first time. Seven young women all around the age of seventeen were standing by the back wall and were nearly naked. They were clothed only in short cloths around their hips and were adorned with beaded necklaces, head bands, arm and ankle bands, the types of things shown worn by Egyptian slaves and servants on the walls of the temple.

He recognized the face of Zeinab Hazziz among the them, but she and the other girls looked as though they were in a haze, like they were in some drug-induced trance. He looked for her, but Anucis Sakr was not there with them.


	8. Chapter 8

"Zeinab Hazziz," lllya called out to her, " are you alright? Your father is looking for you and has sent me to find and rescue you. Then he realized the absurdity of that statement, given his current predicament.

She showed no reaction to her name being said. " Zeinab, what have they done to you?" Still nothing in response from her; the girl stood with but a blank look in her eyes as if waiting to be called to life by some command.

The guard called out to women in a language Illya did not recognize and the girls obeying the order began to pour urns of water into a shallow circular pool made of marble.

"Enough talk," the guard with the rifle growled at him, " you must be purified."

"I must be what?" he asked pointedly.

"You heard me, now kneel."

Illya looked at the man with defiance in his cold blue ice, but he complied as he lowered himself to one knee then the other, hoping he was going to just have some of the water poured over him.

The guard suddenly drew a curved dagger from his belt making the Russian suddenly think otherwise; figuring this was it, he was about to get his throat slit from ear to ear.

He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the moment of his execution, as he felt the pressure of heavy hand on his shoulder; he braced himself, his breathing becoming short and rapid as he anticipated the pain.

Then he felt it, the knife slicing up the back of his shirt. Illya opened one eye cautiously then the other, letting loose a long sigh as the guard proceeded to cut away his clothing until he was kneeling on the stone floor stark naked.

"Into the bath"

He looked at them, then the pool of water.

"Bathe him now, imshi!" The order was barked at the young girls with a clap of the hands.

Illya was helped down into the bath as his hands were still bound behind his back; finding himself able to sit on a small ledge in the water as the women proceeded to wash his body. He had to admit, if it weren't for the circumstances; it might have been a pleasant experience having seven beautiful women minister to him in such a way.

It felt so good on his hot and sweaty body as they poured the cool water over him; gently scrubbing his skin.

For a brief moment, memories of a similar experience at a certain Geisha house in Tokyo drifted into his head, although his hands were free to do as he pleased there.

When they were finished, he was ordered to rise from the pool; he was dried then his body was rubbed down with scented and sacred oils; their hands gliding over his skin was quite sensual and he had to force himself not to become aroused.

A simple pleated white robe was draped over him, draping from only his shoulder and hanging open completely down one side. It was made of the finest of linen he had ever seen, so fine that it was nearly transparent and did little to hide his nudity.

They applied black kohl liner to his eyes in the Egyptian fashion, then blue green powder to his lids. Then bands of gold were put around his biceps and ankles, and an elaborate beaded collar of brilliant blue lapis lazuli and gold beads was fastened around his neck.

One of the girls approached carrying an elongated white head dress with two ostrich feathers on it's sides; he recognized it as the atef, the crown worn by the pharaohs and the deity Osiris.

"Chtoebat' zdes' proishodit_what the fuck was going on here?" he mumbled to himself in Russian.

Then he spoke in Arabic to the guards, "What am I being prepared for?"

"You are to be the vessel, the host for the great one himself," the guard smiled at him strangely.

Illya looked back at him with an equally strange look, "Which great one and for what?

"The lord Osiris returns that he might be anointed and be resurrected, he will father his son the lord Horus and bring about the return of greatness to Kemet. Then Osiris will return as king and judge in the land of the dead. He will be mummified and sent on his journey with the proper rituals.

"Mum...mummification?" he stammered, " Not again?"

Oh, shukran_thank you." Illya answered; his dismay evident in his voice as he rolled his eyes, thinking he could use really his partner's help right now.

Several more bald headed men arrived, some of them rather portly, all dressed in linen loin-cloths and their chests wrapped in leopard skins. As they came closer, Illya realized these were priests of some sort, having had no body hair what do ever, including eyebrows; hair was considered unclean for those who served the gods.

One of them carried a tall hooked scepter with a stylized animal head on top and forked end; it being the 'Was', a symbol of power and dominion of the pharaohs and the gods. Illya swallowed hard, knowing that this staff was responsible for the well-being of the deceased in Egyptian funerary ritual. In the priests other hand was the symbol of the ankh, the symbol of life eternal, often seen buried with the pharaoh.

There were too many clues now that were making this become more and more ominous as he wondered what else lay in store for him.

"Yalla" the head priest ordered, " we begin our symbolic journey.

The only thing out of place was he a lily white, blond Russian and the Hakim rifle that was still aimed at him as they began some sort of ancient procession through the temple complex. It was a ritual recreation of the eternal return, the king's ceremonial walk through the temple, enacting the journey from birth through life, to death and resurrection.

Illya hoped against hope that symbolically was the operative word, wondering if he were to really be mummified and would that be done dead or alive, but in the long run, what did that matter. "Where are you moy drug_my friend? he whispered thinking of Napoleon Solo.

The priests chanted hymns and called out the significance of the ceremonies as the king proceeded through the temple, chanting that the cosmic cycle and celebration was renewing all life, and that everything in

existence was returning back to the source from where it came...back to she who gives birth to the god, she Isis; the giver of life.

"The adoration of Ra as his rising on the eastern horizon of the heavens by the Osiris, scribe of the holy offerings to the god. Homage to you who are come as Kheperi when he created the ascend, you ride. Illuminating your mother, crowned as king of the gods; with her own hands, mother Nut performs the pouring of libation for you."*

One of the priests poured wine into a stone goblet, holding the cup to the Russian's lips to drink.

"Laa'a_no" Illya refused.

Another of the priests grabbed him by the chin, pulling his mouth open as they poured the liquid into it, shoving it closed. He spit it out at them, and they repeated the process, pinching his nose this time, forcing him to swallow.

Though he dragged his heels, and let the heavy atef crown fall from his head a few times; it did little to delay the inevitable, as they finally completed their journey; walking into the Mammissi temple, where the birth of the god Horus was celebrated with the pharaoh participating in the ritual, thus securing his legitimate descendancy from the god.

What ever they had forced him to drink had begun to work on him; he was feeling light-headed, and distant. It was almost as if he were no longer in his own body, he felt disconnected from it.

The priest continued his droning," Manu revives you in pieces, Maat embraces you at times of morning and evening. He gives glory, strength and truth of voice and the power to come forth as living soul to seek Harnak, his to seek the Ka of Osiris, true of his voice before Osiris."

"He says O all you, gods of the house of the Ka, the soul, weigher of heavens and earth in the balance, giver of food and sustenance."

"Old windbag, " Illya mumbled, his lips now barely able to move.

The UNCLE agent stood there, with his mind beginning to drift as he heard the words in his head to that song again, Just remember all the while you belong to me...who did he belong to? He was alone, there was no one, he belonged to no one, and no one belonged to him. He would be gone soon, that he was sure of now and there was nothing, no one to live on after him. He was alone."

Everything sounded as if it were in an echo-chamber now as Illya slipped under the power of the drugs he had swallowed, losing his battle to stay in touch with reality. The images on the temple walls seemed to come to life, each of them turning to him, beckoning him to join them.

"Give praise to Ra, lord of heaven, prince; life strength and health to him, maker of the gods! " The priest called out.

They finally reached the inner chamber, the sanctum, the walls covered with depictions of the falcon-headed god, Horus wearing the red and white double crown, and of Isis suckling the young Horus in the marshes of Chemmis. Illya heard the screeching whistle of the falcon resounding throughout the chamber.

There were ten immense and beautifully decorated pillars adorning the room, symbolizing the first plants, trees and flowers of the earth, the tops painted in vivid colors of green orange and blue. On the ceiling of the chamber were the images of the day boat and the night boat as well as the vultures of Upper and Lower Egypt with their wings outstretched for protection. The walls were painted with hymns to the lady Isis.

At the back of the chamber, on a simple stone block lay a richly painted sarcophagus, and on the floor fanning out around it like a giant lotus were seven other sarcophagi, decorated with less detail. All of the coffins were open and empty, awaiting their intended occupants.

The priests stopped Illya where he stood in front of the sarcophagus, while the hand-maidens removed his headpiece and clothing, leaving only the jewelry in place, then the priests began to paint symbols on his body, marking the thirteen pieces where Osiris had been cut apart, the last thing they did was to paint Illya's privates with gold paint, to symbolize the golden phallus that Isis had fashioned to replace what Osiris had lost.

They uttered the final words of the ritual, "His arms are bound, Ra seizes the legs, may you be satisfied with him, may I strike him and cut him into pieces, may I destroy your Ba at his moment as I use your secret name Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, oh Ice Prince."

Illya heard his name...his nickname and remaind focused enough to know there was only one person here who could know that. "Anucis. What was her part in this?" he thought through his surreal haze.

"May I see the Inet boat in it's pool and may I see Horus as the guardian of the rudder. Let me see the disc of the sun and the great sight of the moon god every day!" the priest concluded.

That part of the ritual was now complete as Illya stood helpless and stupefied, just as the women were when he first saw them.

Another procession came forward through the temple, bearers carrying a woman in a sedan chair. It was Anucis seated there, wrapped in a bright, multicolored cloak, on her head was strapped the head dress of the goddess, the symbol of the sun between two horns, beneath that a golden fringed head covering sparkling against her dark hair.

They lowered the chair, allowing her to rise and step from it, she too in a drug-induced state as she walked in front of the golden haired man.

"It begins,"called the priest.

Another cup was put to the the Russian's lips, but this time they met with no resistance from him as he swallowed this new liquid willingly.

The priests began to sing, "The Sun god Ra, brings forth his son close to the Isis, giver of all life Queen of the pure island. The mistress of all protection and power be with him and Ra in eternity!" **

At that moment Anucis robe was flung open, revealing the the wings of Isis, in it's multicolored feather pattern; she was completely nude except for a golden girdle around her hips.

The priest called out, " I bring you the inundation of the Nile, when that is within him goes forth into you, oh divine nurturess of the lands!"

Anuncis was lowered to the floor and made to spread her legs. Illya now feeling the affects of the last potion as he was given, was drawn to her and even though he had made love to her already, this felt different; he was compelled to mate with her as the drug took over him completely making him become erect. He knew this was wrong, but he could not control himself.

Illya suddenly gasped, feeling as if he had been possessed, then he was lowered to Anucis, filled with only carnal lust for her though she seemed oblivious to him as he entered her body. They held him in place, adjusting him as he plowed into her like a beast in rut unable to restrain himself; the act taking but a few minutes before he cried out as he ejaculated his seed into her, completing the ritual.

The priests pulled him off of her as Anusis in the guise of the lady Isis was helped back to her chair. His head was spinning now, he felt repulsed and ashamed of what he had just done to her.

Illya was barely able to stand as the handmaidens and priests began to wrap his body in strips of linen that stank of some strong solution; burning his skin as it came into contact with him. He wanted to cry out, but found he could make no sound.

They wrapped amulets of power and protection among the cloth as little by little the bandages covered his entire body. The task was nearly completed as they reached his mouth and nose when the effects of their potions began to wear off. Fear-filled bile rose up in Illya's throat and he was finally able to speak.

"Laa'a! Min fadhlik, min fadhlik!_ nooo please please!" he begged them in Arabic. "Nyet? Pahzhaluista, nyet nikakoi_ no, please no!" he blurted out in Russian shaking his head from side to side, trying to stop them from covering it with the linens.

His pleas fell on deaf ears as he screamed out in desperation, but his cry was muffled by the wrappings as they covered his mouth. Lastly his eyes were masked, with his final image being that of Anucis sitting like a lifeless statue before him.

They lifted the now mummified agent as he vainly squirmed in their hands; placing him into the sarcophagus, leaving it unsealed as the handmaidens were then wrapped in linens as well, each being lowered without resistance into their own coffins one at a time.

Illya was finding it difficult to breath as he tried to gasp for air but the wrappings were making in hard to inhale precious air. A claustrophobic feeling was sending panic throughout his body, though he fought it; trying to banish the imagined _thud_ of the coffin being sealed and the thought of being buried alive.

His own body heat was beginning to stifle him and his breathing become rapid and the sound of his heart pounded in his ears when the dreaded sound came, the lid being put in place over him. Illya let out a scream of desperation that only he could hear.

* from the hymn to Isis, on the walls of the Temple of Isis, Egypt

** all rituals based on excerpts from the Egyptian Book of the Dead


	9. Chapter 9

It was under the light of the full moon as they ascended the southern staircase to the front of the temple; François guiding them across the courtyard and directly to the Mammissi. "This is where the ritual will surely happen" he whispered, " it is the sacred place where Horus was conceived."

Napoleon and Nabil had armed them all with weapons; Solo supplying the tranquilizer rounds.

They walked into the first chamber of the temple, Napoleon quickly moving to the side walls instinctively to remain out of view. The others following suit. They checked two smaller antechambers, finding them empty; then continued on deeper into the building, it was dark going as they way was lit only by torches on the walls.

In the distance they could hear chanting from the inner recess of the dark temple. They crept forward moving carefully until they heard a blood curdling scream. "That is Zeinab!" Tariq blurted out, rushing forward into the blackness.

"Tariq no!" Napoleon called after him, then he too took off after him into the shadows followed by the others.

The young man bounded into the sanctum, calling Zeinab's name, and she reacted when she saw him. She had come out from under the control drugs and was fighting as the priests tried to wrap her in the bandages, letting out a blood-curdling scream as the priest struck her across the face.

"Tariq help me!" she howled to him.

"Get him!" the head priest ordered. A half dozen guards wearing black jackal head pieces stepped out of the shadows, heading towards him, stopping him where he stood as their costumes were startling.

Napoleon, Nabil and François appeared behind Tariq, firing their weapons and taking the men down, but then more and more appeared from other parts of other parts of the temple. They ran out of ammunition, leaving them no choice but to grab the nearest weapons, the swords of the fallen guards. Solo ran forward swinging the blade, trying to apply standard fencing techniques to adversaries that would not be following gentleman's rules.

Parry, thrust , lunge parry again; Solo moved holding the curved blade with both his hands, dancing back and forth with the immense guard until he finally found an opening, driving the sword into the man's chest. He turned in time to duck another blade that just missed removing his head from his shoulders, lashing out in response; he took the next guard out quickly. Nabil joined the UNCLE agent, standing with him back to back as they swung their swords against their attackers as did François and Tariq. If is wasn't for such a surreal setting Napoleon would have found it quite exhilarating.

When it was over Napoleon and Nabil looked at each other, puffing for air, then laughed in relief; realizing they had won.

Anucis was still sitting motionless as Solo went to her. "Anucis? He repeated her name several times, receiving no response. He finally slapped her once then a second time causing her eyes to flutter back to awareness.

"Anucis, where's Illya? Do you know where he is...is he here?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her a little, demanding her attention.

Her hand raised slowly as she held up a shaking finger at the large sarcophagus that lay to Solo's back. He turned, looking to where she was pointing.

"Jesus God no?" He released her, scrambling over several bodies to reach the box in which his partner had been entombed.

Napoleon grabbed a long staff that lay on the floor, using it to try to pry the lid from the sealed sarcophagus, uttering a another plea to God that Illya was still alive. The wood snapped under the pressure and this time he grabbed one of the swords, forcing the blade into narrow slit beneath the lid, finally prying it open.

It was too heavy to lift by himself, and he called to the others to help him.

"On the count of three. One, two, three.!" They hoisted it up, grunting with the effort, then throwing it aside to the floor.

Napoleon looked in horror at the mummified figure, thinking that Illya Kuryakin was dead, when suddenly the body began to move, wiggling from side to side.

"Oh Christ?" He uttered as he used the sword to cut through the bandages covering his partner's face.

The look of terror on Illya's face was one that Napoleon would never forget, as the man cried out gasping for air. He lifted the Russian's head, cradling it against his chest, feeling his friend trembling as he began to sob quietly.

"It's alright buddy, I'm here. It's over. You're okay."

Illya suddenly let out a laugh, realizing that he was indeed alright, and Napoleon knew his friend would be fine when heard him speak, saying something that was so typical of his laconic partner.

"As usual you are late."

Solo chuckled at that, not caring about the accusatory tone the Russian was taking with him; he was just happy that his friend was alive to say it.

He laid him back down, slicing through the rest of the linen bandages, glancing at Illya's face as he heard the man sniff, seeing there were still a few tears running down is face as the usually stoic Russian tried to blink his eyes into stopping them.

"Thank you Napoleon" he whispered, "this was a bad one."

That was the closest his partner had ever come to admitting fear, that and the few tears he had let fall proved that he really wasn't the _Ice Prince_ after all. His fiercely private friend had finally let him see more of his human side, one that Solo had always suspected was there.

Once free of the wrapping and his hands untied; Illya hoisted himself from the coffin with the grace of a gymnast, calling to his partner to grab the linen robe that lay discarded on the floor. He looked down over his naked body as Napoleon tossed him the garment seeing that his skin was very red, and it was starting to burn. He suspected some sort of reaction from what ever the bandages has been soaked in.

Solo eyed the face makeup, hieroglyphs on Illya's skin, and especially the gold paint as Illya removed the lapis collar and other pieces of jewerly still adorning his body.

"Now that's really going to require a good explanation?" he smiled looking at his partner's lower extremity.

"Over my dead body," the Russian quipped as he quickly covered himself with the linen robe.

"Almost was," Napoleon reminded him.

Illya shook his head in agreement, "We will talk about it later, _much_ later please?"

Napoleon continued to help the others remove the rest of the girls from their coffins as the air started to fill with the sounds of their cries fear and relief at their rescue. Nabil grabbed the leopard skins from the priests, using them to covering up the girls to save them from further embarrassment. He remained silent and did nothing to stop Tariq and Zeinab as he saw them kissing, holding each other. He smiled, knowing that his best friend would someday be his brother-in-law.

"You were very brave and very stupid Tariq. Perhaps I can get you a job with our government? " Nabil then laughed.

Illya tied the linen robe tightly around his waist then walked slowly over to Anucis, helping to cover her with the bright Isis cloak. He put his arms around her holding her head to his chest.

"Are you alright?"

"I am alive, so I suppose so?" she answered ever so softly.

He knew she was in shock as he pulled her closer to him, " I am so sorry," he whispered to her. " I could not control myself because of the drugs they gave me. Did I hurt you?"

"I will be alright it wasn't your fault, Illya." She reached up stroking his cheek, noting the sadness in his bright blue eyes.

"Anucis," he paused, finding the words difficult, " If...if there is child," he began to say but before he could finish his sentence; Illya heard a noise from behind him. He turned, seeing one of the guards lunging towards them, he had only a second to cover Anucis with his body, preparing for the worst.

Then suddenly, a figure dove between them, taking the blade their stead.

Napoleon came up behind the guard, driving a sword blade between his ribs; killing him instantly, then he dropped to his knees, cradling the body of the man who had just saved his partner's life.

"François. I'm so sorry, this is my fault. I never should have..."

"Non Monsieur, you needed my help to stop this abomination. I only _hope_ we were not too late..."

The man's body went limp in his arms; Napoleon closed François' eyes then lowered him down gently to the temple floor.

The girls having been seen to and were ready for travel as the men grabbed torches from the walls, making their way though the dark temple; the only sound now was they echoing of footsteps on the stone floors.

A hot blast of dusty air greeted them as they emerged through the portal, past the granite lions that stared out with lifeless carved eyes. They made their way cautiously down the southern steps to the dock where the felucca were anchored, feeling they were returning from the past to the present.

After everyone had boarded, Napoleon made ready as he cast off the mooring lines, then he and Illya raised the single tall sail. It caught the hot desert winds instantly as Solo brought the small craft about, tuning it north for their short journey towards Aswan, from there they would travel back to Cairo via the lorry they had left there.

Tariq and Nabil sat together in the bow of the boat, with Nabil wrapping his arm around his sister's shoulders. Anucis and other girls huddled together in silence, letting the effects of shock slowly diminish from their systems. The linen bandages they and Illya had been wrapped in had caused minor chemical burns to their skins that would require medical treatment as soon as they reached a hospital in Cairo, but none were serious enough to put them in any sort of danger.

Napoleon piloted the graceful craft while his partner sat beside him, the night air and the cooler temperatures allowed them both to breathe deeply in the realization that they had cheated death and won the game once again.

"You alright tovarisch?" Napoleon asked as his partner seemed more quiet and contemplative than usual after a close call.

"I am fine." Was all he said. Napoleon knew that was his friends way of saying something was troubling him." But Illya deftly steered the subject away from himself. "So pretty handy with that sword tonight... should I call you Errol Solo from now on? Or perhaps D'Atagnan?" he teased.

Napoleon grinned, going along with his partner's joke, "No I think perhaps Aramis is better for me, don't you think? You know, the legendary swordsman and lover?"

"Oh pa-leeze?" Illya moaned.

"Hey you started it? And besides the idiom won't work; it's just the two of us so we're short a Musketeer?"

The Russian shook his head; regretting that had tried making the smart-ass remark. But then again it had served it's purpose to deflect Solo's questions. He hadn't told him of the ritual he had been drugged into performing with Anucis, and decided he would not discuss it. Even though he had no control over himself; Illya felt ashamed. That would be another secret that he would have to bury along with so many others that he kept from his partner, reminding himself of his mantra he learned as a child, _the less people know about you, the longer you would live.  
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The next morning Anucis Sakr walked into Illya Kuryakin's hospital room at Qasr el Ainy General Hospital in Cairo where he was being treated along with the seven girls for minor burns. Illya lay in the hospital bed, his skin dotted with white ointments and an IV fluid line in his arm to treat his dehydration. He looked up at her, offering her one of his shy smiles.

"Marhaba Illya, how are you feeling?" She dropped her hijab, revealing her luxurious dark hair to him.

"Fine thank you and you?" he spoke to her with a tentativeness in his voice, but stared into her lovely eyes, still finding them entrancing.

"I am well. There are no ill effects from the drugs that I was given. Illya, I wish to thank you for saving me? You put yourself in front of me and would have take the sword for me I think?"

"No it was François who should be praised, not me? He fell silent for a moment dropping his gaze," Anucis, we need to talk about..."

"Yes I know you are concerned if there will be a child."

"I am and I want you to know if there is; then I will help support it ...but I cannot be with you. I am sorry, that is something my life will not allow."

"I understand, be well Illya Nickovich," she said softly, then leaned forward, kissing him on the lips, leaving him with out saying another word."

He sighed, then shrugged; knowing there was little he could do at the moment. The idea of having a child un-nerved him yet at the same time the thought of having someone out there that was a part of him was enticing. The words to the song that had been playing over in his head came to mind again, _You belong to me,_" A child that belonged to him...Illya let himself muse over that thought for a moment. He knew he could not be a father to it though, not with the unpredictable life that he lead.

His most recent encounter with death was proof of the precariousness of his existence, and would not be fair to a child; better it grew up without him in it's life, than to suffer the loss of a father as he had when he was a child. He was sure that would be his fate and it was only a matter of time before he met his death in this dangerous business of espionage.

Napoleon walked into his room, seeing his partner more serious than usual. He'd gotten used to the Russian being on the cranky side as he detested doctors, especially psychiatrists. He was carrying a brown paper sack with him, something he knew would soothe the savage Illya.

"Here's a present to tide you over until lunch." He put a tall cup of asiir lamoon, a strong sweet version of lemonade that was popular throughout Egypt on the bed table. "Sorry, not vodka tovarisch."

The Russian took a sip from the straw, testing the liquid with a quick taste, then finding it acceptable he took a longer swallow, then opened the sack; pleased that it was filled with deep-fried fallafel, making him smile of course.

"You always know when I am hungry my friend, thank you." he said tossing one of the snacks to his partner.

"Not hard, that's because you're always hungry. Listen, a clean-up crew from our field office Tel Aviv took care of the mess at the Isis temple, but a strange thing... the body of François al-Dabaran was missing when they arrived."

"Mmm," Illya said, with a mouthful of fallafel." Perhaps the _old_ power that François had spoken of took him to the land of the dead; he was after all a believer in those ways?" Illya the scientist surprised himself at making that statement, as he was one who relied on concrete facts to reach his conclusions and was not prone to flights of fancy.

The two U.N.C.L.E. agents looked at each other. "Nah!" they laughed as they continued to eat, each of them wondering otherwise about François, but leaving the thought unvoiced. They returned to New York three days later after Illya's skin irritation had subsided. It bothered him that he did not get to see Anucis again before they left. He tried calling her, but there was no answer and there was no time to look for her as the Old Man, wanted them back to headquarters immediately.

He had not told his partner about the fact that she could be carrying his child. That was a private matter not to be discussed, irregardless of the fact that it had happened during an assignment. That little detail he opted to leave out of his final report as well.

Two months later Illya Kuryakin walked into the office of Dr. Mustafa el- Hazziz at the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities back in Cairo.

He knocked softly on the door then opened it after the Professor called for him to come in.

"A Salam Dr. el-Hazziz, I bring greetings from Alexander Waverly. How are your son and daughter?"

"Ah Mr. Kuryakin, such a pleasure to see you again and looking fit I might add. My son Nabil has just received a promotion and will be working special detail for President Nasser himself. He his heading a task force with a young archeologist named Hawass to prevent the further theft of our antiquities as well as petition for the return or our national treasures from foreign nations.

"No more Sorbonne?"

"Sadly no, but I am very proud of him none the less as he is doing a great service for our country."

"And your daughter?"

"My beautiful Zeinab and Tariq have become engaged," his eyes twinkled," but a long engagement, mind you. And what may I ask brings you here, surely not to just bring greetings from Alex and to inquire about my family?"

"No sir I am here to see Anucis. I have been trying to get in touch with her but have had no success. I just visited up an assignment in Libya and had time to spare to come to Cairo. Is she here today?"

"Oh I am so sorry Mr. Kuryakin, Anucis Sakr resigned her position just a week ago. I have no idea where she has gone, it was all quite sudden and perplexing. She is very much missed here."

Illya felt a little stab of pain in his chest."Do you know were her family lives in Lebanon?"

"She has no family, they all died many years ago. So really who knows where she could be. I am sorry. Perhaps if you would care to leave a note for her; if she contacts me I could find out where she is and send it to her for you?"

"No thank you professor. There was a question I needed to ask her, but I suppose it will have to wait. Please extend my well wishes to your children. Ma'as salaama_goodbye," Illya said with a slight bow, placing his hand to his chest.

The blond Russian exited the Cairo museum, pulling the hood of his long beige caftan robe to cover his blond head. He walked alone across Tahir Square down to the shoreline to gaze out at the Nile and the Pyramids one last time. He felt no desire to go to them now, nor see any other ancient site up close for that matter but this last glance, admiring them from a far would more than suit him for a long time to come.

The words to the song came back to him instantly as he stared at the tall monoliths rising in the distance and he started singing it softly to himself.

"_See the pyramids along the Nile_

_watch the sunrise on a tropic isle_

_Just remember darlin' all the while_

_you belong to me.._."

Would there be someone out there who belonged to him someday? Illya wondered if the sands of time would reveal that or not.

Intaha_FINIS


End file.
